The Floodlands I feel you in my arms, but you're hardly even with me

Silaluk was nearby, and followed the scent of Aklark idly. The collective whole of Tartok traveled together, understanding well strength in numbers when it came to their task. She was at their helm, unshakable and strong. With their number, now, they could surely hunt and fell something—when that thing was found. Silaluk did not hunger, yet, though did not desire to feel the pangs hunger could bring. 

Aklark was in her eye-sight, and she closed the distance between them with powerful, long strides. She caught the very same scent he had; the whole of them would follow these creatures to where they migrated to. It was their biological code, and Winter was only just beginning. The tracks were not so old, but old enough that the thought of them having a ways to go occurred to her.

She drew alongside him, now, her head lifting as she moved to brush her shoulder against his own. Her muzzle then moved to sweep against the earth, gathering the very same details as Aklark, and quietly processing them.